


The Bitch of Living

by ameerkatofficial



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Canonical Character Death, Dissociation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 03:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11004642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameerkatofficial/pseuds/ameerkatofficial
Summary: Moritz is on the verge...





	The Bitch of Living

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for all--this is gonna be a bumpy ride!

He felt only barely aware these days of where he was, where he was going, as if he were drifting on the periphery of reality, only tangentially involved with decisions such was how his feet decided to walk upon the black and blue earth beneath the pink sky. But now he simply wandered the earth, feeling like a butterfly, just drifting over things, and away he'd fly...

It was strange to feel how the hiking wind nipped at his skin, chapped his hands white and pink so that the skin seemed close to peeling off when he flexed his knuckles. But even if he bled then, it still would have felt dampened somehow, numb, as if these weren't his hands, but someone else's that he was watching deteriorate in the cold, flexing around the cool metal of the pistol in his pocket, and how the curves felt so nice against his hands. He could stroke them for ages!

It seemed that the chill of the evening was the only feeling he could feel, however numbly, clumsily he did. The slight pain in his hands, his knees, his cheeks and nose, was enough to keep him upon the ground rather than flying away with the wind, but it wasn't enough...

It was never enough...

 _Eighty lines of Virgil's, sixteen equations, a paper on the Habsburgs..._  
  
What would it matter now that he had failed, now that there was surely nowhere else to go now? What did his agenda matter? And still, before him he could only see his agenda for the day, reading in front of his eyes, scrolling endlessly rather than the trees, the blueing grass, the flushed sky before him. He could only run numbers in his head, mutterings of his list, always a list, a long list, what to do now, later, tomorrow, yesterday, always, never unoccupied, constant as the howling wind that moaned sorrowfully in his ears--

\--until he came to a tree...

_Static._

And for one wonderful, _wonderful_ moment he heard nothing, saw nothing, knew... _everything..._

_"...Moritz Stiefel?"_

_"Ilse!"_  he cried, being suddenly pulled away from his paradise, "You...you _frightened_ me..."

The Winter Wind howled around them, singing, crying, as it drifted between them, through them, biting their cheeks and chapping their hands, their lips...

Moritz thought about it now, what would happen if he were to suddenly grab hold of her, lovely and plump young Ilse, with her glittering eyes that sparkled in the sun, with her ample breasts, so round and full, so soft. He wanted to know what it would have been like to run his hands through her dark, wild hair, down to her waist, her hips. He thought of kissing her then, her lips, her neck, down to her breasts and perhaps--perhaps _further?_ Oh, if he dared to think!

"What are you looking for?" her chipper voice once again cut through the static he found as he stared openly at her pink breasts, suddenly growing to become their shade himself as he blinked furiously, trying to grab hold to something, anything in his mind to bring him back here, to standing here two foot's lengths apart from Ilse, standing on the road.

"...if only I knew..." he replied, his voice weak, hardly a whimper in comparison, as he glanced down to his own hands then, nervously fidgeting with themselves as the Blue Wind wept as it swept around them, and he felt himself slowly drift away again into that monotonous drone, that feeling of flying far too high, flying away with the wind as he was only peripherally attached to the reality that was them, him and Ilse Neumann, and this road that they stood on.

"Walk as far as my house with me."

"I wish I _could..._ "

"Then why don't you?"

_Eighty lines of Virgil's, sixteen equations, a paper on the Habsburgs..._

He nervously chuckled out his list aloud, flushing wildly as he thought of his equations, his equations and _breasts_ , ah breasts!  

And he ran then, turned and ran on his own way, his heart pounding, pupils blown, as he found himself gasping, laughing, crying! Tears froze in thin lines of glass down his cheeks as he felt as if he were at last taking flight with the rising moon, he was the Blue Wind that swept through Ilse Neumann's hair! He could fly!

How far he could fly then! On to the rising moon, perhaps even past the stars! Fuck Virgil, fuck maths, fuck the Habsburgs, and fuck Ilse's _labia majora!_ Moritz needn't such things when he could become the wind, perhaps coming back down to swing laundry dry upon a taut line. He was free to run! Free to _fly!_

No longer would the chill and his bleeding palms bring him back down to this cold earth, to the bitch of this mortal realm...

How he laughed! _How he laughed!_

_Just don't care..._

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest this got deeply personal and is kind of my experience as a person with suicidal tendencies...kinda wrote this as a way to stave off those feelings tonight.


End file.
